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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23125051">Breath</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister'>GretchenSinister</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Rise of the Guardians (2012)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Human, Intimacy, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:34:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,435</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23125051</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GretchenSinister/pseuds/GretchenSinister</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Happy birthday, whentheoceanmetsky!</p><p>I bring you a human AU unrelated to anything in which Pitch and Sandy love each other truly madly deeply with no regard for normality. NSFW.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Pitch Black/Sanderson Mansnoozie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Blacksand Short Fics</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Breath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally posted on Tumblr on 11/21/2013.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><div class="text post-content">
  <p>Pitch and Sandy look into each other’s eyes, and when they blink, they blink at the same time. Sandy sits on Pitch’s lap, his legs wrapped around his waist, his arms wrapped around his shoulders just as Pitch’s arms are twined around his. They have been like this for hours.</p>
  <p>Pitch breathes into Sandy’s mouth. Sandy breathes into Pitch’s. The rise and fall of their chests and bellies, the slight expansion of their lower backs (they have learned to breathe very deeply when breathing each other) are the only movements in the room.</p>
  <p>They don’t know anyone else that does this, but then again, how could they ask?</p>
  <hr/>
  <p>
    <em>How do you make love?</em>
  </p>
  <p>Early in their relationship, the question was an easy one, with common answers. Quick and dirty handjobs after long days at work. Leisurely weekend blowjobs. Anal sex in a variety of positions, with both regularly taking their turns topping; slow and lazy on Saturday morning, quicker and more urgent on weeknights (though not every weeknight). This was what they both understood to be normal.</p>
  <p>And it wasn’t as though they didn’t enjoy it.</p>
  <p>But then, one afternoon, Sandy, kneeling on the floor, had looked up at Pitch sitting on the sofa and felt his gaze turn considering as he sat back on his heels and leaned his cheek against the inside of Pitch’s knee, the taste of his come fresh in his mouth. When Pitch opened his eyes and smiled down at him, Sandy felt the smile he returned was rather different from the one he had assumed was his own.</p>
  <p>            “Pitch,” he said, casually bringing up a hand to rest, lightly splayed, on his belly. “I want to always be making love to you.”</p>
  <p>            “I feel the same way,” Pitch had replied at once, feeling his mouth go dry and heat rush to his groin again as he watched Sandy’s face bloom rose as he moved the hand on his stomach in the smallest of motions, as if he felt possessive of Pitch’s come that he had just swallowed, as if he was glad in ways that couldn’t be explained to have some of Pitch inside him. Pitch understood that gladness well enough, though he had never mentioned it to Sandy, worried that it would seem far too strange to him.</p>
  <p>Now, he pulled Sandy to his feet and onto the couch, and moved to the floor to kneel before him. He quickly unbuttoned Sandy’s pants and pulled down his underwear to free his straining cock. Sucking more eagerly and more greedily than ever before, Pitch pulled moans from Sandy that made his own cock throb painfully. Still, he ignored his erection—his own release was not what he desired right now. What he wanted was the hot, bitter pulse of Sandy in his mouth and down his throat; the satisfying knowledge that his body contained evidence that <em>he </em>had pleasured the man before him, the man he loved.</p>
  <p>            After he had gotten what he wanted, he could not even find it in himself to be embarrassed at the way little more than a couple of long kisses from Sandy, punctuated with “I love you” whispered in his ear, had made him come all over both of them. There was no time to be embarrassed, not when they were licking each other clean.</p>
  <hr/>
  <p>     </p>
  <p>And after that afternoon, they had always been making love to each other, though in ways different from those taught to them by any models of normality.</p>
  <p>            Thankfully, no one asked them any questions about this.</p>
  <p>            How could they explain that they could go to bed dazed and sated in the evening when all that had taken place between them all day were a collection of light touches? Pitch’s hand resting on the back of Sandy’s neck for a moment as they prepared dinner together, Sandy’s arm around Pitch’s waist as they went to the living room to read books each had recommended to the other. Sandy’s bare feet pressed under Pitch’s thigh for warmth while they sat on the couch together. The clumsy bumping of their fingers as Pitch passed Sandy his tea. Pitch resting one hand on Sandy’s calf simply because it was there. Oh, there had been dozens of such touches, but none an outsider would recognize as sex.</p>
  <p>            “You’re good,” Sandy would say after evenings like this as they cuddled in bed, nude under thick blankets.</p>
  <p>            “You’re better,” Pitch would say, wondering how he had ever survived without feeling the pulse under Sandy’s skin pressed against his, fitting in counterpoint to his own.</p>
  <p>            How could Sandy explain that his fantasies were of Pitch sitting behind him, his legs to either side of his own, hands under his sweater, stroking and caressing his chest and stomach, telling him all the details of his day quietly in his ear? How could he explain that when Pitch did this and took away one hand from Sandy’s torso to card through his hair and lightly scratch his scalp, he’d wondered why they’d ever spent so much time shoving each other’s cocks in each other’s asses?</p>
  <p>            How could Pitch explain that he daydreamed about Sandy recommending him books; that he got weak in the knees when he thought about Sandy reaching across the table to grasp his hands for no reason (<em>no reason except that we are making love</em>), and that when Sandy did this and also ran his fingers up and down the insides of his forearms, pressing his fingers into the muscles and murmuring that he worried about Pitch getting carpal tunnel syndrome, and Pitch said softly back that it was Sandy that should worry about that, writing all day on that awful flat keyboard, he’d wondered why he thought their relationship had been progressing quickly when they’d shoved each other’s hands in each other’s pants so soon after meeting?</p>
  <p>            How could they explain that horror novels and ergonomic keyboards to aid in the creation of novels very far from horror were erotic purchases?</p>
  <p>            This wasn’t to say that they didn’t get each other off anymore. But now they had dropped the old hierarchy they had been taught, dropped any of the games they had been taught to play. Sometimes Sandy liked to set down his mug of tea, push away Pitch’s book, and tell him jokes as he rutted against him until he was laughing helplessly and coming in his pants. Sometimes, Pitch liked to follow Sandy around all day, kneeling before him as often as he could until Sandy accused him of being an incubus set on draining all his strength through his cock (while making this accusation he would rub his thumbs along the curves of Pitch’s ears and tangle his fingers in his thick black hair). Sometimes Sandy, still mostly asleep himself, liked to catch Pitch’s morning wood between his helpfully slicked thighs so he’d wake up with the most undignified moan and then jolt Sandy fully awake in turn with the smack of bony hips against soft buttocks (much better than an alarm clock). Sometimes Pitch, on cold and foggy evenings, liked to take away Sandy’s blanket and drape himself over him instead, kiss him till their lips were chapped and he was fairly sure the faint sting as they continued made it even easier for his hand to bring Sandy off despite a couple layers of fabric between skin and skin.</p>
  <p>            But it was important for them that they both knew that all these sometimes were not only when they were making love. So they could laugh, but not at each other, when they had gotten distracted from the hard cocks in each other’s hands one sunny evening by the way the slanting sunlight caught in each other’s eyes and they had stared until it got too dark to see. So they knew it was safe to tell each other, after they had breathed into each other’s mouths, and nothing else, for the first time, that this was what meant, more than anything else, that each wanted to be with the other forever.</p>
  <hr/>
  <p>            They breathe deeply, slowly, but their hearts pound fast. Sandy holds tighter to Pitch, and Pitch to Sandy. Perhaps a signal is passed from fingers to skin, perhaps not, but they both move forward just the last inch to bring their lips together. Their kiss is light, brief, open-mouthed with no tongue. It breaks when they gasp and shudder against each other, collapsing into their bed.</p>
  <p>            “Do you ever think we’re not human?” Pitch asks after a few moments.</p>
  <p>            “Of course,” Sandy says, “we enjoy it too much.”</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tags and Comments from Tumblr:</p><p>#I heard you have an intimacy kink</p><p>lithefider said: Great now I have Savage Garden’s Truly Madly Deeply stuck in my head, thanks :’D</p><p>marypsue reblogged this from gretchensinister and added:<br/>:wraps myself up in this AU like a blanket and doesn’t come out:</p><p>whentheoceanmetsky reblogged this from gretchensinister and added:<br/>oh my god ohmygod JUST THE CARPAL TUNNEL THING AND THE KNEELING AND oh god you know sandy would have one of those little lame novelty books full of bad pick up lines and I choose to believe that pitch came just as sandy dropped a “if i told you you had a beautiful body would you hold it against me?”</p><p>and those last lines ahhhhhhhh</p><p>applause followed by a standing ovation this was really cute and sweet and even a little poignant :’) #STILL CRYING #MY DUMB CHILDREN #INTAMACY READINGS ARE OFF THE CHARTS #REACHING DAGEROUS LEVELS OF SCHMOOP #SIGHS HAPPILY</p></blockquote></div></div>
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